Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
(IMPOSSIBLY STILL) THE DAY AFTER
A strangled laugh bubbles out of me. “Okay, I see what you’re doing here,” I say, any illusion of him wanting to do this the easy way gone. “But I’m not in the mood for your games today.”
It’s one thing for him to reorganize my desk every time I’m out on a work trip or to send a sympathy bouquet to Jane-from-HR on her wedding day on my behalf.
But this? Orchestrating this entire situation where he acts like he’s lost his mind?
Makes me feel like I’ve lost my mind? This is a new level of low in Evie vs.
Rafael, and I’m not going there right now.
Having had enough, I march past him, shoulders thrown back, toward the door.
“I hope your résumé is up-to-date,” I toss over my shoulder, already envisioning a considerably more stress-free, Rafael-less Media Lab—and it puts a pep in my step to know I’m almost there.
But … I can’t just walk out. Not yet.
Because the pounding in my head is nothing compared to the chaos whirring in my brain—the weird things my hands are doing, the maybe-pills, the utterly ridiculous story about me being in a coma.
This entire morning feels like one long fever dream wrapped in a bad prank, and walking out without answers feels a lot like letting him win.
And Rafael doesn’t get to win anything. Not on my watch.
Despite my need to be far, far away from him, I slow my pace to give him a chance to come to his senses, to beg me for forgiveness, to bribe me with a month’s worth of coffee runs, to grovel at the toes of my leather pumps, and to admit that yes, in fact, he has backstabbed me to get ahead, and yes, he’s now staging some unhinged reality-bending performances to make me question my sanity.
That and he broke the rules—and used my fainting spells against me at last night’s dinner (another hiccup in the keep your enemies close experiment).
I halt, shy of reaching the door, and give him another second to fix things.
He’s as silent as a corpse.
No excuses. No explanations. No apologies.
Frustration curls my hands into fists, and my throat clogs with all the things I want to say—have to say—before I go.
If this is the end of Rafael Vela’s tenure at Media Lab—if this is the moment our war comes to an end—I need something resembling closure.
I need him to admit he’s spent the last two years making things harder for me.
That he manipulated me into friendship only to weaponize everything he’s ever learned about me, from scheduling team-building events that involved hand-eye coordination (knowing I break into hives at the phrase “trust fall”) to submitting petty facility requests under my name until they stopped responding to real ones.
And let’s not forget the time he sweet-talked Dana into assigning my best friend Gemma to his team (though there have been perks to having someone on the inside).
I know it’s wishful thinking to want him to admit it.
Still, I turn on my heel and level him a look that’s withered account execs and vendors who couldn’t hold up their end of a project.
He doesn’t so much as flinch.
In fact, some would say he looks sad. But I know better than to fall for those puppy-dog eyes. He’s trying to Vela me. As if.
“This is all your fault,” I point out.
His throat bobs. “Don’t you think I know—”
A loud rap shakes the door.
I nearly jump out of my skin.
Rafael looks past me to the door but doesn’t move.
Three more impatient knocks.
I’m close enough I could reach over and pull open the door. But what if I miss? What if my hand grasps the air again?
Anxiety prickles up my spine.
More knocking. Harder. Impatient.
I jerk my head at the door. “Aren’t you going to answer?”
Rafael appears to think about it. Rolling his shoulders, he takes reluctant steps down the hallway, eyes on me the entire time. With nowhere for me to go, I press myself close to the wall and glare at him as he approaches, like a snail moving uphill.
“You’re infuriating,” I hiss at him when he slows beside me.
“Ditto.” He wrenches the door open.
A woman—her brunette hair pulled into a messy bun and a Harry Styles tee tucked into ripped jean shorts—stands on the other side, fist hovering midair. She drops it at her side, her scowl matching my own.
“Oh, this should be good,” I mutter, smiling for the first time all morning. She doesn’t so much as look at me. Neither does Rafael.
“I never thought I’d have to come back here, but I forgot my phone last night,” she huffs, her furious energy like that of a malfunctioning pressure cooker. “It happens when you’re kicked out.”
My mouth almost drops.
Rafael sighs. “It wasn’t like that, Victoria.”
“Victoria?” Her voice turns shrill. “My name’s Violet, you douchecanoe.” She shoves past him, bumps his shoulder, and stomps into the apartment.
“Wait—” I stare after her. “She was here? Last night? With me asleep on the sofa?” Nausea pushes into my throat. A brand-new set of horrifying what-ifs flood my brain, shoving everything else out. Did he have a woman over while I drooled on his sofa? Did they … hook up? Is he that insatiable?
Ignoring me like it’s become his personal Olympic sport, Rafael follows Violet with the enthusiasm of an inmate on death row. I trail after him, desperately needing answers about last night because the plot holes are more confusing than assembling IKEA furniture with instructions.
“Explain,” I command.
“Please, go away,” Rafael mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. Violet halts her mission of pulling out sofa cushions to turn toward Rafael with a withering glare. Finally, a woman who gets it.
“Go away?” Violet almost shrieks. She chucks the cushion in his direction.
“Not you.” Rafael holds up his hands as if to soothe her. Violet’s face pinches with a mixture of distaste and confusion. I think I hear her call him asshat—and make a mental note of her insults—before she reluctantly resumes her search.
“Your manners are atrocious,” I tell him as she lobs another cushion to the ground, cursing men and dating apps as she goes. But I get it. Hell hath no fury and whatnot. Rafael has incited similar feelings innumerable times (present moment included).
“How do you explain this?” I gesture in her general direction. “Or is she a hallucination too?”
Rafael pivots his body away from me.
I follow, circling into his line of sight. “Really? Are you five?”
Rafael’s jaw clenches so hard the muscle in his cheek jerks, but he continues to say nothing, watching as Violet upends his living room.
“Whatever happened last night—and spare me the details—something tells me it didn’t go according to plan.
” I jab a thumb toward Violet, who’s moved to the coffee table, tossing magazines and books aside with fury and purpose.
“Not what I would call a satisfied customer.” A book hits the ground with a pronounced thunk.
Rafael doesn’t react.
“While I’d love nothing more than to leave you at the mercy of a woman who might loathe you more than I do, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what happened after I fainted,” I say, positioning myself solidly in front of Rafael.
I make myself tall. He steps to the side. I follow. Another book slams onto the wood floor. Nothing from Rafael except a throbbing vein along the column of his throat.
“Silent treatment? Really? You think that’s going to help you?
” I cross my arms. “You screwed up big-time—and I’m not talking about your late-night guest.” Another thunk.
“I probably have a hundred emails waiting for me, so I’ll keep this brief.
If you thought bringing me here was some kind of twisted favor, you were wrong on so many levels, and now it’s my leverage.
” I let that sink in. “Unless you had plans to break several HR rules on your way out.”
His jaw clenches.
Fine. We can play.
“That’s on top of breaking one of Dana’s rules,” I add.
“Which means you’ve basically rolled out the red carpet for Media Lab’s newest director: me.
” Still nothing. “Dana won’t be so lenient when she finds out.
If she finds out …” I trail off, hoping the emphasis on the if will make him see things my way.
“It’s a win-win. I keep last night and this morning between us, and you keep your job.
All you have to do is not get in the way of my promotion.
You know—like you should have done two years ago. ”
Rafael doesn’t look intrigued. He doesn’t look at me at all.
Guess he wants to do things the hard way.
I close the distance between us, making it impossible for him to look anywhere but at me. “All right then, it’s your funeral, Raffy Taffy.”
“Enough!” Rafael snaps, hands thrown into the air, startling the panic out of me.
Violet gasps.
“Why won’t you leave me alone?” He closes his eyes and presses the heels of his palms into them with an anguished groan.
I tilt my head, examining him. Something is off.
I’ve never seen Rafael lose his cool like this, no matter how many times I had his work badge deactivated or his dry cleaning canceled. I’d never admit it, but it throws me off. Because I thought I had him figured out.
“What the hell?” Violet squeaks, her eyes saucers. She’s clearly never seen this side of him either. Hasn’t seen any side of him, apparently.
“Yes, Raffy Taffy. What the hell?” I add.
“Dios, why me?” Rafael looks up at his ceiling again.
Violet grabs a magazine from the table and begins to inch forward, eyeing the hallway behind us.
I’m not sure which of them needs more help.
“You know what …” she starts, holding the magazine across her chest like a shield. “I don’t need my phone.”
“Don’t—” Rafael says, cutting off her escape route. “I’m not yelling at you.” He smiles, as if to show he’s to be trusted.
A part of me can’t help but enjoy his discomfort.
Violet stalls. Her freckled face is tense and her hands shaky around the magazine.
Like she might actually be afraid of him.
I should let this play out, but she shouldn’t be giving herself a panic attack on his account.
Despite his many shortcomings, Rafael wouldn’t harm a spider.
“His bark is louder than his bite,” I offer, feeling icky about defending Rafael. But crazier things have happened today. “If anyone should be afraid, it’s him.”
“Fuck.” Rafael’s cheek throbs.
Violet hesitates, her eyes darting between Rafael and the door. “I don’t even use my phone,” she says, her laugh watery.
“Please, I wasn’t … I haven’t slept well,” Rafael says, his hand scrubbing down his face. “I’m not myself. Not last night. Not now.”
“I … just … would really like to go.” Her eyes finally move from Rafael to me. She takes a tentative step forward, eyeing the distance to her escape. I step aside and gesture for her to keep moving. She stalls halfway down the hallway, her lip between her teeth.
“Do you have this effect on all women?” I glare at Rafael.
His nostrils flare.
“It’s both shocking and unsurprising.”
“Please, stop.”
“Maybe you should stop.”
“What will it take to make you go away?” he asks icily.
My chest caves at his meanness, making me angry. With him. With myself.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I plant my hands on my hips, glaring at Rafael.
“It means get the hell out of here already!” Rafael snaps, whipping his head in my direction. His chest heaves with frustrated breaths, and his eyes burn with misplaced anger.
To my left, Violet whimpers. I want to tell her I’ve got this handled, but she rushes forward, like a linebacker locked on a target. Me.
Instinct takes over—and I brace for impact, hands covering my head and my chest. I suck in a breath, ready.
The impact never comes.
Because she runs right through me.
A sharp gasp tears from my throat. I feel like I’ve slipped beneath the surface of a frozen lake, and I’m struggling to breathe. To stand. To grasp for the surface.
Shivering, I double over, taking in deep, deep breaths.
I can’t pass out. Not again.
Arms coiled around my middle, like they can keep me together, I drop to the floor. “Ohmammamia,” I whisper. I’m not so sure it’s Rafael’s meds making me loopy.
Pressure builds inside my chest, compressing my lungs, making breathing painful. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, burning my throat and threatening to spill.
Oh God.
“Hey.” Rafael’s rough voice draws my attention to him. He’s hovering near me, his face a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. But something else is there too (something that could be confused for genuine concern). I can’t process him when I’m barely handling myself.
“What’s happening?” I whisper, hating the plea in my voice. Nothing makes sense—waking up here, my hands doing crazy things, and Violet going through me.
What is happening? What is happening?
Cold burns through me. A beeping noise sharpens and intensifies, burrowing into my head.
I press my hands around my ears, close my eyes, and gasp for air.
Full-blown panic attack mode.
In front of Rafael.
Breathe, I command myself.
I can’t faint again. I can’t let him see me at my worst.
One Mamma Mia.
A traitorous tear slips out.
Two Mamma Mia.
I don’t know how many breaths it takes for me to finally inhale without feeling like I’m drowning. But I feel steady enough to open my eyes and face Rafael.
Only it’s not him I’m looking at.
It’s me. And I’m lying in a hospital bed.